


Skyclad

by deskclutter



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston has a question for Tiffany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skyclad

Tiffany's first thought, when Preston sprang the question on her like a trap, was, 'Thank goodness Wentworth left us to go fishing!'

Her Second Thought was a fizzing speechlessness. 'Well, that's helpful!' thought Tiffany to herself.

"...why do you ask?" she said at last, for lack of anything better to say.

Humming gently in his throat, Preston had his hands in the water, balancing precariously on an uneven hump of soil, so that he could tickle the trout exactly as Tiffany had taught him, which was an attempt to win his students' respect, which he said was a very difficult thing when even the smallest of them could make a trout laugh and their teacher could not. It was, declared Preston, a blow to his reputation. Tiffany had her doubts about his plan, but she kept them to herself.

"Chalk it up to curiosity!" he said. But Tiffany could see the mischief in his twinkling eyes.

Give him what he wants then, her Second Thoughts chimed in at last. "Well then," said Tiffany. "In my capacity as a witch, yes, I have done that."

When he heard the splash, Wentworth put down his fishing rod and ran back to where he had left his sister and her Preston. Somehow, it was no surprise to find Tiffy standing unsplashed on the bank while Preston flailed about in the stream where any trace of laughing trout had vanished entirely.

 

At dusk, Tiffany went out to the cowshed and carefully extracted a bottle of Granny Aching's Special Sheep Liniment, which she only brought out on special occasions, not only because it was very strong and very rare, but also because merely carrying a bottle about had the tendency to attract Nac Mac Feegle like a hare to fire, whether or not they had been assigned to shadow her to begin with.

When she drew near to the Feegle mound, she noticed a figure who sat by Granny Aching's old pot-bellied stove as an animated Feegle gestured feelingly in his direction. "I'd wondered why Rob wasn't amongst you," said Tiffany to the crowd of little blue men who had flocked around her.

"Verra likely they are speakin' of what it was ye said today," said Daft Wullie, wisely. Tiffany levelled a speaking look at him, but of course such looks had little effect on the Nac Mac Feegle to begin with and Daft Wullie was particularly immune to its influence.

"When yon lad turned as red as the auld sunrise, ye ken," he continued on. "Acos ye told him there was times as ye hae gone nek--"

"Thank you," Tiffany said to Jeannie, who had taken Daft Wullie by the ear.

"A good evening to yourself," said the kelda, ignoring Daft Wullie's groans of pain. She stared around at the crowd, which cowered beneath her gaze. "Back inside wi' ye, my lads," she said.

"Here," said Tiffany, handing her the bottle. "I brought it for you anyway."

Jeannie accepted the Sheep's Liniment with a nod of thanks. "That is verra kind o' ye!" she said, letting go of Daft Wullie's ear. "Will ye both stay to sup wi' us?" Her head jerked towards the old stove.

"I will see if he can spare the time," said Tiffany.

Resilient as ever, Daft Wullie let out a cheer and joined the clustering Feegle who surrounded Jeannie like an honour guard. As they passed closer to the mound, the procession lured Rob Anybody with them, abandoning Preston unceremoniously.

When the last of them had gone back in, Tiffany sat down when Rob had stood.

"Good even to thee," said Preston in his usual way, but he glanced sidelong at Tiffany. The tips of his ears turned red.

She felt a pang of sympathy for him. "It's a bit more than you expected when you asked, wasn't it?" she said.

"You musn't condescend to me," said Preston, plastering a woebegone expression on his face. "I do get enough of that with my pupils."

Tiffany patted his hand. "You do perfectly well with your pupils," she said, which was the truth. Then she left her hand where it was an refused to turn pink.

She could feel him look down at her hand and then back up at her face. He turned his hand over so his palm met hers and he folded his fingers over hers.

"The question you asked earlier," said Tiffany. Her eyes remained steadfast on his. "I could show you."

"You could do anything," Preston agreed, before his mind caught up and he followed with a spluttered, "I beg your pardon??"

The wind made an attempt to bluster, pulling half-heartedly at their cloaks. Tiffany put one hand to her hat to keep it from flying off.

"It's perfectly natural," said Tiffany with a straight face. She pulled her other hand from Preston's grip and stood up to face him. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Wait!" said Preston, but it was too late. With both hands, Tiffany whipped her pointy hat off her head.

She grinned at him. "A witch's head feels quite naked without her hat."

Preston blinked. "Oh," he said. He laughed giddily. "I do believe you've been having a laugh at my expense, miss," he said.

Tiffany only smiled.

 

The sun went down and the Feegle trooped out of their fairy mound, carrying fish that Wentworth had gifted to Jeannie in the afternoon and a ginger sauce that Tiffany suspected to be her mother's recipe. She had not put her hat back on her head.

They were watching Aw'fly Wee Billy Bigchin warm up on the mousepipes when Preston looked over at Tiffany and blinked.

"Well, well," he whistled.

Tiffany turned to him as he reached out and touched a finger to one of the stars in the brim of her hat of sky, which glimmered and shone beneath the moonlight. "It is a marvel and a wonder that you are, Miss Tiffany," he said, his eyes merry with the joke. "You do walk skyclad after all."

"I _am_ a witch, you know," said Tiffany, and she winked at him to watch him laugh.


End file.
